I had no idea when I was a little girl at ten years old what kind of decision I was making.  I knew He was speaking to my heart, I knew He loved me and that I was a sinner and that He sent His Son to die for our sins.  I was told, "It's God's free gift to you.  All you have to do is reach out and take it on faith."  No one ever said, "This decision will change your life.  You carry a responsibility now to tell others about Jesus.  You must follow Jesus.  You must bear fruit.  You can't say you've received Jesus and still live the way you want."

I have reached a point in my life, almost a fourth of it, maybe less, where I'm sick of wasting time! I'm sick of giving into temptation when I have the power of the Holy Spirit and the example of Christ to overcome!  I'm sick of going shopping and being swamped by people rushing, buzzing, grabbing and greedy for more material crap, images and things that will burn!

We have come so far.  We have come from a people who would stand outside the temples of God's and praise them in twisted ways.  And we've come to a point of what Satan told Eve at the very first sin on God's creation.  "You can be like God."  We don't worship Him anymore.  We don't even worship a God anymore.  We worship ourselves.  How much longer Lord, will you take, before you destroy us again?  If it breaks my heart, and makes me sick, and turns me hot with anger all at the same time, how much more for you Lord?  How much longer?

May the rain that falls from Heaven not just be a reminder of the promise You made to us and the covenant You established.  But may it also be a reminder that You are a jealous God.  And we are wasting precious time.

Currently Reading Though None Go with Me By Jerry B. Jenkins see related

Matchless

Your mercy flows like a river wide,

and healing comes in Your name.

Helpless children are safe in your arms.

There is none like You.

I never write anymore.  It seems like a went through a time in my life (college) when I wrote all the time.  I come across things and read them and am blown away at how insightful and deep I was, it doesn't even sound like me!  Maybe one day I'll get back to writing my thoughts down.  Maybe it's that creative writing class I took back in college that finally deterred and discouraged me from ever writing again.  Just the same... I came across this in an old email...thought I would share to whoever devotes a minute to read...

Resignation

2/24/06
Why not just quit now?
Why not give up the fight
and stop failing everytime?
Past any hope of change,
no possibility of things
ever getting right and real.
What's the point of starting
over, of running back before
a line you've already crossed?
Your toe inches from passing
it by, wanting to, panting
with exhaustion of making it
this far without falling,
gasping for air amidst the
craving and appeal of beyond.
Why turn back now after moments
of running along the path
you so desired? Locked away,
presumed to be, the freedom you
tasted, shockingly dissapearing
as quickly as it occured. Now
there two people stand. Together, side
by side behind the marked line of a race
marked out before them...

Knees bent, back crouching,
breath ready, eyes focused,
waiting for the moment when they
hear the words "go" and can
play along the track again.
 

She always had a bag of lemon drops

and a feau fur coin pouch full of quarters

to buy candy that wasn't at home.

She let us jump on the bed, watch movies

all night long. I preferred her lap for naps

instead of over-stuffed pillows.

We made fudge in that kitchen together, lemonade

stands on the street corner.  Singing George Strait

on the highway, turn it up a little bit more.

Dressing up in her creations, wearing dresses

out to dinner.  Running through the sprinklers

getting stickers stuck in our feet.  And we still did it

every year.  Trips to the sand dunes then watching the sand,

as it washed off our skin and out of our hair, draining down

that porcelin blue bath-tub. 

She loved me like no one else ever will.

Standing on the edge we watched her. I'll

never forget the sound our roses made,

as they thumped when they reached the bottom.

I'll never forget her.

She was my grandma.